I have three stories in the works right now and I feel like by the time I finish the one I work on most it's going to be a completely different story than it began. I'm ok with that as long as it's a BETTER story than I began with!
I have posted the beginning before but now that it has been rewritten I am going to post the "new" story opening. I would love love love for you guys to let me know what you think. Does it work, does it suck, does it hinder or help the story, does it feel awkward? Lay it on me straight cuz if I don't get this story out and done with soon I may go insane from lack of sleep!
Thank you so much for your time and for your deeply appreciated opinions!
P.s. the original beginning can be found farther back in my blog if you would like to compare.
When No One Was Listening
There are many things that I’m not, like, popular, drop dead gorgeous or normal but it’s what I am that bothers me the most. I am alone, I am broken, I am a murderer. Some things can be pushed down deep inside of you, but if you can still hear your dead twin’s voice in your head, well then they aren’t deep enough. That’s why right now I am the crazy girl who punched the future prom queen.
I almost drowned when I was eight years old, the day I killed my twin, a fact that had everything to do with my cold, wet fist smashing into Bitsy Ramones perfect nose. It shouldn’t have been a good feeling, her nose crunching under the rage, but it was.
Oh that was great! Did you see the look on her face?
Are you happy now? I’m going to be in trouble AGAIN because of you! Mom’s gonna flip Sarah.
Don’t blame me, I’m dead.
Thin drops of blood stained her porcelain white skin, rolled, splattered and pooled at her feet as the dirty grout sucked it up. The sound of the room rushed inside my ears, pounding in my head, her gasps, the jeering of onlookers, the sound of feet slapping against wet cement and loud, shrill laughter. The smell of chlorine, wet clothes and iron swam up my nose.
My perfect unbroken nose.
My sides ached with laughter that I’m not sure was mine. Stuttering breaths and every bit of my will power couldn’t stop the cackle rolling forth and ricocheting off the walls. Years upon years of repressed guilt and rage poured to the surface, falling from me in shrill peals of laughter. Everyone stood and stared in utter disbelief of the chaos I created. I found very little composer in the harsh stares, and lost it again as Bitsy whined,
“My nosth sthee brothke my nosth”
OMG, look at her face.
HA! Her prom dress choices just changed drastically!
I learned years ago I couldn’t quite the sound of my sister in my head, worse than that I often found myself talking back. Sarah was always the adventurous one, the brave one. I always hid behind her, afraid to look people in the eyes, afraid to stand up or speak my mind. Days like today, she often pushed my buttons and forced me into actions I myself would never take, like punching the most popular girl in school right in the face.
I went willingly as Mr. Hawthorn led me toward his office. The resounding slam of his door brought forth thoughts of jail cells clanging closed. I needed a cell, a padded cell to hide in. One where Sarah couldn’t find me, couldn’t remind me of who I really was. A broken, lonely girl who killed the only person who ever cared, who now wanted nothing more than to be normal, to be loved.
Sloane Christianson cheerleader slayer, priceless.
Stop you got me in trouble!
Well you got me dead so I guess we’re even for today.